Ortus
by clarcster
Summary: Six kingdoms, four lands, one political deadlock. The solution? To uncover exactly whose hands the blood lies upon. Cardverse & Chessverse AU. Eventual BulRo.


**Author's Note****:** This was originally my NaNoWriMo contribution for 2013, but it got pushed to one side in favour of... Life. In wanting to see what the reception would be on here, I decided to upload the first chapter, which has been given a couple of edits and a beta read since I rushed through it at the start of November.

Anyway, what to expect... Chessverse and Cardverse (though I took a lot of creative liberty with the former) and eventual BulRo/RoBul. Fair warning that Romania won't be appearing until at least a few chapters in.

General warnings: Blood. Pointy weapons. Weapons that go boom. War. Death. Politics. Ottoman empire references. Magic. Drugs. Prostitution. Foul language. And... Gasp! The worst of all – original characters. Also, I use Marko as Bulgaria's name. Because I'm emotionally attached to it. Like a leechy-leech thing.

But hey, if you're rubbing your hands and licking your lips right now after reading through that list, go ahead and read on.

* * *

**ortus**

.one.

.horologium - the clock.

Despite being a town that was constantly changing over and over, Arkoudi still felt the same to Marko as it did the last time he'd visited. The air was fresh, the taste of salt from the southern ocean laced through the updraft. The ruckus of the expanding port and busy market streets was caught within it, washing over the small travelling party and bringing them a sense of comfort; of ease. Such was the feeling whenever Arkoudi finally crept into view from the top of the mountain pass – in this case, it marked the end of a non-stop overnight journey, western-bound and on horseback, from Cyriacus.

Disruption had been minimal. Işik's northern regions were overrun by monsters that dwelled within the depths of the mountainous wilderlands. This made passage on foot more of a risk; though there were often brave souls that favoured this method, their party was not among them. Their task required them to arrive in the port town as swiftly as possible – with each of them still in one piece.

An overnight journey had meant that they hadn't had to suffer travelling during the long, sweltering hours of mid-year daylight. However, it had meant that the Queen's Chancellor had been burdened with the task of keeping himself awake all night...

Well, he had been told to do that, anyway. The rest of the party hadn't expected him to keep awake as long as he had done. After the third time that he'd started to nod his head and threatened to slip off his mount, Marko had halted the journey (something that might well have proven dangerous then and there, with their backs turned and their guard lowered within uninhabited territory). He had pulled the Chancellor onto his own horse and allowed him to slumber against his back, trusting the unused steed to the Pawn at the back of their group.

The Chancellor hadn't roused since, but now that they were moving into Arkoudi's outskirts, Marko thought it was probably a good time to try waking him up.

"Hera." He muttered, one hand shaking the (surprisingly strong) arm wrapped around his middle, the other still firmly on the reins. There was no answer. He rolled his eyes a little. "_Hera._" He tried again, with a more abrupt shake.

There was shifting, but not the kind of shifting that was evident of someone waking up. In fact, the arm only tightened around him instead, almost like he was getting more comfortable. Frowning a little, he decided that the Chancellor wasn't going to wake up this way - not after getting used to sleeping on horseback.

Marko pinched the tan skin of the arm firmly between his thumb and ring finger. That did the trick.

"Ow..." Came the half-mumbled, delayed response. Heracles shifted his forehead from the back of Marko's neck and rested his chin on his shoulder, but didn't budge otherwise.

"Mornin'. Might wanna get back on your own horse." Marko said, turning the majority of his attention back to the slope ahead of them. This section of the road, leading down from the mountains into the vineyards and wheatfields, marked the beginning of Arkoudi's borders. Though there were only limestone farmhouses and other rural dwellings, protruding every so often from the lush fields across the landscape like milestones, to pass for another ten minutes (at a brisk trot) of the journey, they did still have an impression to make.

Heracles took his time once again in responding. "Mmn... Just a little longer... Your back is comfortable."

Marko huffed a little through his nose, though it was primarily a snort of amusement. "What'll they think in town, if they see the Queen's son bein' dragged around by her Knight?"

Another pause. "That the Queen's son is ailing... And should be allowed to sleep longer."

He pinched him again, causing a soft hiss.

"Did anyone else rest?" Heracles enquired, raising his chin a little, apparently to survey where the sun was hanging in the sky. It was roughly the ninth hour from midnight, though it wouldn't be long before they could check for sure in town.

"No. We haven't stopped since you fell asleep." Marko replied, tugging on the reins of his horse to bring it to a halt. He raised his hand, twisting his head over his shoulder. He then motioned to the Pawns at the back of the group, to tell them to stop as well, and to ask them to bring the unmounted horse forwards.

All in all, the party didn't much resemble that of any royal affiliation. In fact, were Heracles not at all present, they'd have been brushed off as regular soldiers, perhaps with some reason or another to visit their comrades stationed in Arkoudi. Despite his status as the Queen's Knight – which entailed that he was the personal bodyguard to her, or to those she saw fit; Heracles, her eldest son, in this case – Marko wasn't easily identified by civilians outside of Cyriacus. Heracles, on the other hand, was more or less the opposite. In settlements further afield, perhaps this wouldn't have proven true, but in Arkoudi, he and his mother were celebrities in their own right. Which was understandable enough – it was their hometown, after all.

Heracles's face alone was probably enough to jog the memories of the townspeople, but they'd kept their attire plain for the journey alone, so as not to attract attention; this had been particularly important in the mountains, where robbers not easily deterred by monsters would often hide out. No great obstruction like this had faced them, though; nothing more than a few stray beasts. But even if a crook had attempted to prey upon them, Marko and the Pawns were ready for it; they wore light armour above their linen tunics and, beneath their cloaks (which were of a rough, tightly knit wool), hid knives in bolsters out of sight. However, as there was no way to conceal the swords or muskets they carried along with them, it was still obvious enough that they were a military party.

But how common or disheveled they looked right now was irrelevant. There was plenty of time to find Arkoudi's inn and wash up before getting down to business.

"You should rest." Heracles said, after he'd slid off of Marko's horse and back onto his own. He still sounded half-asleep, but then again, a lazy disposition was perfectly normal for him. "I'll find the escorts and head to the temple alone."

Marko glanced across at him. "The Queen gave me orders to guard you."

"And so you did." Heracles smiled a little.

Truth be told, now that Heracles had brought it up, Marko _was_ beginning to feel the effects of the night spent awake and alert. The sense of security that the sight of Arkoudi and the warmth of the morning's sun had both brought didn't help, either – the latter, in fact, would probably cause his armour and cloak to soon become heavy and uncomfortable.

"Let's keep movin'. We'll decide what to do when we get into town." Marko said, firmly. He signalled again to the Pawns, before dropping his reins, moving the horse forwards down the road ahead again.

Heracles followed suit, catching up to Marko moments later. "There are many beautiful women in Arkoudi... I have connections."

Scowling a little, but keeping his focus on the route ahead, Marko replied, disgruntled in spite of the idea sounding rather appealing in his head, "S'not worth tryin' to bribe me."

"Mmm... Not bribery. Just a token of my appreciation?"

"It's still bribery, if you're doin' it to get me outta the job." Marko bristled a bit. "_Argh_, I told ya, we'll figure it out in town." He leant forwards, only catching the start of Heracles chuckling and shaking his head besides him, before sending his horse into a faster paced trot. It was safe to do so where they were now, at the base of the mountain pass where the land was open and relatively flat and few people passed to and fro. They wouldn't be able to keep this up when they reached the more built-up outskirts of Arkoudi.

Arkoudi had once been a small harbour town, twenty cycles of the stars ago, prior to the Işikish conquest. Işik – commonly known as the White Sultanate – had at that time warred with its northen neighbour Zhelud, the Kingdom of Clubs, capturing the region of Živa before an armistace was declared. Since then, Arkoudi had prospered greatly, due to its practical location on the coastline and fairly close proximity to Cyriacus, the political capital of Işik. As a matter of fact, ships were the staple mode of transport between the two settlements; cargo from further afield would be checked in Arkoudi's port before being sent on to Cyriacus, and a large portion of the naval fleet was stationed there, too...

...That thought in mind, it had been surprising that Marko and Heracles were even there to begin with. Their task – specifically, _Heracles's_ task – was to interrogate the local temple about several reports claiming they were sheltering pirates. Pawns stationed in the town had found evidence, but could find nothing concrete, nor get anything whatsoever out of the temple's elders' mouths themeselves; this left the palace in Cyriacus with little choice but to send the Queen's Chancellor, a full-blooded Arkoudian, with the hope that he'd be able to crack the case.

An incident in which a cargo ship bound for Cyriacus had left Arkoudi's port, only to return a day later with a slaughtered crew and no cargo whatsoever, had been the initial claim. Since then, several similar attacks had been reported. The navy had intercepted a few, but they didn't seem to be getting to the root of the problem by picking off those they could catch. In spite of this, the port hadn't been closed, though security had been tightened and it was for this reason that their own party had opted to travel on horseback.

It was part of the reason as well that Marko was somewhat reluctant to let Heracles head to the temple on his own. Sure, there were Pawns at the barracks in town waiting to escort him, who were no doubt far less weary than those that had travelled along with the two of them, but, even so, there was still that glaring possibility that burnt at the back of his mind, _'What if? What if?' _Marko supposed he could chalk it up to being tired; he didn't usually worry like that. Besides, it wasn't like Heracles wasn't a grown man that couldn't take care of himself; he was older than Marko by two cycles of the stars, after all, and had grown up in the Royal Palace of Işik as the Queen's son. He'd learnt to spar, if not necessarily out of practicality and more for ceremonial purposes, and to ride horses, both of which were the most basic of teachings within the military; granted he could have been better at them, had he not been so lazy throughout his lessons, but it was evident he was at least strong enough to defend himself.

So, then, perhaps more than anything, it was an emotional concern. Heracles was Marko's oldest friend, the first person he'd met in Cyriacus when the war was coming to an end. Both of them were Zheludian boys, _Ž__ivan_, specifically, though Marko's birthplace was further north and the two of them had ended up in the capital for much different reasons. It was a time Marko wished he could remember fondly, but all things considered, he really didn't... But, he didn't regret their meeting, that was for sure. And, at the very least – he figured – it _was_ all in the past, by now.

The whitewashed buildings started to get smaller, more numerous and tightly packed, meaning that it was time to slow the horses back down to a controlled trot. Once the clopping had gotten quieter, it was easier to hear the noises of everyday life from the centre of town. By mid-morning, when the markets were in full swing, this hubbub would be much louder still, but compared to that of Cyriacus, Arkoudi's centre was fairly laid-back. The main road, the one they were taking down from the mountain pass, lead straight into the centre, cutting through both the residential and commercial areas of town.

"Marko, have you eaten since we left the palace?" Heracles enquired slowly, out of the blue.

Marko paused, not having expected the question, or for Heracles to have even brought anything else like that up before they'd reached the town centre. He then nodded his head in negation – a habit from his birthplace he'd somehow never managed to discard. "Nah, but the men have." He snorted a bit, looking over at his friend and adding, "S'difficult to eat when you're ridin' and have a leech on your back, y'know?"

Heracles frowned, but it was out of concern more than offence at being called a 'leech'. "Sorry. It wasn't my intention to be such a burden. We could have stopped for longer..."

"Hey, I told ya not to bring that back up 'til we got to town, didn't I?"

Marko had to try very hard not to roll his eyes at the look on Heracles's face. He and the Queen had the exact same look of concern, where they'd hold the stare for quite some time before they'd speak again. In his mother's case, the words that would follow would be along the lines of 'Oh, you poor dear...', more often than not when she'd be comforting one of Heracles's younger half-brothers... Marko sincerely doubted Heracles would be saying the same thing to him, though.

"Please eat something, when we get there."

"Drop it now and I'll make it my first priority. Deal?"

Heracles seemed content with that. And so they pressed on; they were soon surrounded by the buildings, and the locals were out and about in the streets, clearing passage for the horses before continuing with their daily lives; though a few of them did take an occasional glance or two at Heracles and mutter between one another, the party didn't linger around long enough to overhear their comments.

Despite its status as the town's centre, their destination wasn't the dead middle of town at all – rather, it used to be, before the area had flourished and expansion had brought the outskirts closer to the mountains. It was, however, still the hub of the community; the smaller lanes off it lead to homes and businesses, a few of them looping around to the port, as well as the shoreline itself. The centre was a roughly circular shape, choc full of market stalls that popped up daily in the wide open space around the monument – a tall, brass statue, constructed when the town had begun to flourish in recent times, stood in the very middle. The structure, towering above the surrounding buildings on its pedastal of marble, represented an Arkoudian figure who lived over four hundred cycles of the stars ago, when neither Zhelud nor Işik existed in the way they did now. The man was cloaked and crowned and looking out across the sea, raising a torch to the sky; legend had it, if Marko remembered correctly from Heracles and his mother's stories, he was a nomadic hero who lead his people, previously living in the mountains, to the shoreline and founded Arkoudi as a settlement. His name, however, was lost to time, and that was just the basic outline of the story; there were many different interpretations of it.

The market being as full as it was, taking the horses in wasn't possible. Their group came to a halt at the edge of the centre, where they dismounted.

"Hera, I know you wanna get this over and done with, but maybe it's better we all rest before goin'." Marko started to say, his attention on unloading the packs and weaponry his horse was carrying. The inn was nearby, but the barracks where the horses and the Pawns would be staying was further back. He waited for Heracles's reply, as he slung his musket over his shoulder, but when he turned to face where his friend's horse had stopped, he found that he wasn't there. He frowned, and twisted his head around quickly, before scanning over the crowd of people weaving in and out of the market stalls beneath the sea of colourful cotton cloths that adorned the tops and the thick scent of incense and spices that was so prominent around this particular part of the town. "Hera?" He said, raising his voice a bit... Where in Gaia's name had he gone, and how had he – Heracles, of all people – managed to move so quickly, unnoticed?

He glanced towards the Pawns, but they all seemed preoccupied with unloading their items from the backs of their own horses; he doubted any of those three had caught sight of the Chancellor disappearing. This struck a grave sense of concern in Marko's mind... They'd gotten all the way there and now, all of a sudden, Heracles had decided to wander off alone? He rubbed at his forehead with a heavy sigh. There was no point in bellowing his name across the market; with all that noise, he'd easily be drowned out.

"Unload the Chancellor's horse." He told the nearest Pawn. "He cant've gotten far..." He added, in a mutter, before turning to face the bustling marketplace again.

But before he could fully process that, all of a sudden, familiar green eyes and soft, curly brown hair had quickly reappeared once again (right next to him, in fact), something warm and doughy was thrusted into his open jaw, not yet shut from speaking. Heracles said nothing, and kept shoving on the piece of flatbread until Marko – still a little taken aback by his sudden disappearance and reappearance there – slowly chewed a piece off, taking the end in his own hand.

"The hell're you doin'?" He asked with a twitch, not really appreciating the gesture. Pulling a disappearing act was one thing, forcefeeding him was another... It wasn't something he'd let many people get away with, that was for sure.

"Making breakfast your first priority." Heracles's otherwise neutral expression faltered, and he smiled a bit, apparently content with having got something into Marko's mouth.

Marko swallowed the bite, before talking again. "Are ya happy with that, now? As I was sayin' before, we should both rest. There's not exactly a rush to get to the temple; s'not like they're expectin' us..." His gaze slipped past Heracles's face for a moment, towards the market area where people were stopping and pointing towards them, fussing amongst one another much like those further up the road been doing earlier. "Or... Anythin'..." He mumbled, his brow beginning to crease a bit.

Heracles glanced over his shoulder towards the civilians as well, turning back a moment later and shaking his head. "If I don't go now, the temple will have time to make preparations. I'll find the escorts and go alone." He gave Marko a pat on the shoulder as he wandered past him, towards where the Pawns were waiting with their own packs and weapons and all five horses in tow. "Come by when you've rested."

With a nod to the Pawns, Heracles set off, towards the lane that lead down to the barracks. Marko was left alone, a little irritated that his proposition was brushed off so easily, even if there was good reason for Heracles to go as soon as possible, after all. Sticking the flatbread between his teeth again, he heaved the rest of his luggage over his other shoulder, setting off to find the inn.

In theory, the Knights of Işik, be they the King's or the Queen's, outranked the respective monarchs' Chancellors. Asides from being the personal bodyguards of the royals themselves, they had leadership over Pawns and Rooks (the soldiers and captains of the army regiments), and technically, Marko was also in position to give orders to Heracles... In fact, Heracles being the Queen's son was the only reason he couldn't ever be completely adamant in giving him direct orders. He was a Prince in everything but his actual title, and still would have been considered as such even if he hadn't been elevated to the position of Chancellor (which entailed that he and the King's Chancellor were both figureheads that pursued and resolved domestic and international issues on the Queen's behalf).

But due to his mother's status, Heracles's position was understandable. Marko was widely considered, within the royal court and the rest of the palace, to be a much different matter. Asides from being a Živan, he was aged at merely twenty-five cycles of the stars, making him one of the youngest of Işik's Knights in some considerable time. He'd never been quite sure as to whether he'd gotten the position out of sheer luck or from actual skill, though... The selection process for Knights differed immensely from the others, and he still had the scars to prove it.

The inn was a spacious building; the floors were a white marble, the windows wide and kept open throughout the day to allow the sea breeze to waft into the lobby. Frequented by travellers and tourists alike, it wasn't somewhere that a lone man with a couple of heavy-looking bags in tow would appear out of place. So, in addition to the fact that he wasn't easily distinguishable, especially not without Heracles at his side, he'd come as a surprise to the woman behind the lobby's counter, after approaching, looking her directly in the eyes and speaking one, single word.

"_Pérasma_."

She faltered, before nodding once; she then started to look about her workspace, as he shoved the last bit of the flatbread into his mouth, awaiting the key she then plucked out of a small box.

"Your payment, Sir?" She asked, extending the key towards him.

Relieved that had gone so smoothly, he dug into the pouch on his belt for a small handful of gold coins, tallying five of them out onto the counter. This totalled at 500 Arcaris; enough to rent a spacious and pleasant room for one night in Arkoudi (the same amount in Lesperon, the affluent capital of the Kingdom of Diamonds, would only be enough for one to purchase the cleaner's closet of their no doubt luxurious inn for the same amount of time, perhaps even less).

The woman thanked him and collected the coins, and, with key in hand, he moved to tug his packs back up from the floor.

"That's an awful lot of luggage, Sir Knight."

Thinking perhaps that the voice had come from the woman behind the counter, Marko glanced towards her again; however, her head was bowed over the book in her workspace, in which she was likely writing down a brief description of his details. A moment later and he realised that the voice had come from behind him. He turned to see a tall figure; cloaked in dark grey, with most of their face shrouded by their hood. From their husky voice and slender frame, Marko was quite sure this was a woman he was talking to; he wasn't exactly short by any means himself, but she almost matched his height, which was unusual.

"Perhaps I could help you with those?" The ghost of a smile was visible beneath the shade of her hood.

"Uh, I think I'll be okay, thanks..." He replied. This woman was a little odd; the lobby wasn't empty, but he hadn't noticed anyone in a hooded cloak when he'd walked in... Perhaps he'd been distracted.

"I insist." She pressed, her tone still relatively polite, her words fluid and elongated; she was well spoken, though her accent placed her at being Zheludian, if not Živan. "The steps of this inn are rather steep, and I wouldn't want you to injure yourself."

He scratched at the back of his neck idly. "And I wouldn't want a woman to get hurt 'cause of my stuff."

Laughing lightly, she shook her head; it was hard to tell, but she sounded a little bitter and displeased by his comment. "I'm sure your life is of far more value to Işik than mine."

"I've a duty to protect civilians..." He said, brusquely.

"Permit me, but I don't think being relieved of a sack of luggage would go against your 'duty' at all." She responded, crouching down to pick up one of the packs in her arms. To his surprise, she lifted it with relative ease; the pack was not exactly light for a man of his strength to carry, let alone a thin woman. She rose back upright a couple of moments later, her face turned towards him in expectation. "Assuming you're familiar with the inn, I'll allow you to lead the way."

Deciding he was too weary to insist against her aid, Marko nodded his head to himself a bit, grabbing the other pack and making to step across the lobby again. This woman was rather mysterious, not only because she was covered by her cloak, but because she spoke with such charisma towards him; he was someone she clearly recognised and acknowledged as a Knight of Işik, therefore he did find it a little questionable she wouldn't accept his initial refusal without a second thought.

"I don't often get recognised in Arkoudi without the Chancellor with me." He said, as soon as he heard her footsteps following after him. "You're pretty observant, to know who I am."

"I know much of the Işikish court." She said, in both a candid manner, and a way that suited her furtive guise. "I happen to have an old friend in the ranks of the Pawns, in fact."

When she caught up to his side, he glanced over at her. It wasn't really something that was all-too astonishing to hear; many Živan families had fathers, sons, grandsons, brothers, nephews and uncles in the military. All healthy men were eligible, those that didn't participate were more often than not fisherman, farmers, builders, merchants or holy men. "Really? Where's his post?"

She chuckled, albeit abruptly. "I can't say I know. It's been many years since I saw him last. We lost contact, you see. I should hope that if I find him, he still recognises me."

Marko chewed her words over for a moment. "Getting rid of the cloak might be a start, there."

"This? Ah, this is merely to keep the sun out of my eyes, nothing more."

Somehow, he didn't believe her. "Right... I'm guessin' you're not from around here, then?"

"I recently returned to Živa after four cycles of the stars spent travelling the isles of Espada. I suppose you could say I grew acclimatised to their weather."

He figured that made enough sense; Espada, the Kingdom of Spades, experienced many cold fronts and always seemed to be enshrouded in a thick layer of fog. Passage by boat was often risky, and construction of a bridge between their biggest island and the edge of Diamonds to allow for easier travel had commenced a cycle of the stars ago.

As Marko climbed the stairs he found that, indeed, they were a lot steeper than he remembered them being – perhaps because he was carrying such heavy loads. He felt kind of grateful for her aid, now that he took this into consideration. He and Heracles were to stay in the same room, which was at the very end of the upstairs hallway; it had been reserved for them since the Pawns had sent word across to the inn that they'd be coming to Arkoudi on business... Hopefully that was the only information about it that had been made known to the town prior to their arrival.

"Espada, huh? Did ya travel by boat?" He asked, shuffling along the corridor.

"Of course. I can't imagine anyone would want to walk such a distance." She replied.

"There's always horseback." He shrugged a bit.

"Horses are quite the expensive investment in this day and age." She laughed lightly. "For the average civilian, at least. I wouldn't expect a military man to be aware of this."

Marko let his luggage slide off his arm, before moving to lift the musket off his back. "The palace breeds its own military horses."

"I'm quite aware. I merely stated that this fact does not run true for the rest of us."

She spoke with quite a bitter undertone, which made him raise his eyebrow. "Right..." He straightened his back again. "Well, thanks for the help."

"I'll leave this just here, shall I?" She leant down to set the pack in her arms with the one he'd been carrying himself. "And you're quite welcome." Setting her hand at her midriff, she bent her back once again, bowing to him with her other hand lifted behind her, rather melodramatically. "It is quite the honour to be of service to you and our country, Sir Knight."

The way she said this was a little condescending. He decided to think nothing of it.

"I've yet to book myself a room, but I must do so, now." She said, standing upright. "Perhaps we'll see one another again. Until then, may the Gods smile upon you."

"Uh, sure." He shrugged a bit. "You, too."

She turned to leave and head back down the hallway, her cloak trailing behind her. Strange as she had seemed, whoever she was, Marko decided to put their meeting out of his mind... He was growing more and more tired as the minutes passed by. After unlocking the room's door with the key, he twisted the handle and opened the threshold wide, so as to allow himself the space to push the luggage inside.

The room matched the rest of the inn; it was bright and wide, this room in particular spanning the whole end of the inn, the walls were painted white and a soft sheepskin rug had been set in the middle of the floor. There were two beds, both big enough for two people each, a small seating area (that promptly became the place where the luggage was to be kept), a door on the left side that lead to a wash closet, and arched glass doors that lead to a balcony area opposite the entrance, adorned by light, flowing curtains at the edges. It didn't match up to the standards of opulence that were present throughout Cyriacus's palace – and even the best lodgings in the capital could offer greater services – but it was comfortable enough.

He took the key out of the lock and decided to, upon shutting the door behind him once all his belongings had been brought inside, leave the door unlocked. He was planning to put his head down to rest, but he wasn't entirely certain when Heracles was going to be back; he didn't want to lock him out of the room, if he couldn't get ahold of a spare key. If anything came between Heracles and a bed... Well, Marko just didn't want him falling asleep on his feet and cracking his head on the marble floors, that was all.

He shed his shirt and armour first, setting them with his other belongings and pulling out a fresh, light cotton shirt to sleep in from the top of his pack. The only things he didn't leave there were his knives and pouch of money; these were set beneath the lamp on the small table inbetween the beds. The shirt slung over his shoulder for the time being, he headed to the wash closet to clean up.

The mirror above the sink showed evidence of his journey; his bronzed skin had smears of dirt and sweat upon it, his inky black hair starting to stick to the edges of his face. He ran the water, washing his face and neck down with it, enjoying how pleasantly cold it was against his skin. The dirt must have been from when their journey had been halted by one of the mountain-dwelling monsters; a ferocious, mangled lynx-like creature had the nerve to headbutt his horse's hip, which had knocked him straight off and rolling down into the dirt below. To its demise, the beast's neck had met the sharp edge of Marko's knife not long after. He was a little surprised at how dirty he'd gotten from it, though; he had hoped that had he gone with Heracles (who was likely getting cleaned up as well right now, at the barracks) to the temple straight away, without them changing clothes beforehand, his friend would have at least told him about the grime on his face before they'd walked in, disheveled and not at all official-looking in the slightest.

Once he'd cleaned up and headed back into the main room, he threw the shirt on and headed towards the bed, glancing out at the bright blue sky above the balcony's edge before he kicked back onto the silken sheets. Releasing a sigh through his nose, he stared at the beamed ceiling for some time, before he managed to close his eyes.

The interrogation would be over, soon... When he woke up, Heracles would be there in the room with him, and he'd have all the information they'd need for them to decide their next move, with some luck. Those were the last thoughts that ran through his mind, before he drifted off into a deep sleep.

* * *

Whenever Marko was incredibly weary, he didn't dream at all. The hours of sleep passed by like fleeting moments of darkness; replenishing and consoling... But never did he dream, unless his sleep was much lighter.

This time, however, he felt – in the moments before he woke – that he was _surely_ dreaming, after all. Something, or rather, _someone_, warm and soft was pressed up beside him, tucked beneath his arm with their head in the crook of his neck. Perhaps it was just a strange memory, one of him recalling a time when he'd slept with women before...

But when he roused further, he found that the form wasn't disappearing... Someone was there... Someone was definitely there, and their body was too small and too lithe to be Heracles's, even though he wouldn't put it past the Chancellor to pull a stunt like that.

Upon the downwards glance he took at the top of the wavy, mousy-brown hair that was falling onto his shoulder, he jolted, a startled yelp forming in the back of his throat. The woman – someone he'd never seen before – moved away and looked towards him, a smile on her painted lips and contoured eyes.

She was fully dressed, in a draped dress of a salmon colour, still wearing shoes despite having been laying with him on the bed; she was perfectly awake, no doubt she hadn't been sleeping at his side.

"Th-The hell're you doin'?" He stammered, still in a state of shock. It couldn't have been the cloaked woman he'd met just before, could it?

The woman waved her hand dismissively, giggling softly. "Don't worry. The Lord Chancellor sent me. I'm to keep you in this room until you've... 'Rested'." It quickly became clear then that, no, this wasn't the same woman – her voice was a lot less refined, and she appeared smaller in frame.

_'Dammit, Hera...' _Marko eyed his knives and pouch of money, sat on the bedside table behind the woman. "He did, did he...?" He muttered, with a scowl, not caring how irritated he seemed to her. "Did he at least pay in advance?"

"Pay?" She brought her hand to her chest, her eyes going wide as if she were pretending to appear hurt. "Do you truly think me the kind to accept pay for such services?"

"Honestly, yes. Did he pay in advance?"

Rolling her eyes a little, she lowered her hand, huffing as she dropped the act. "Yes, I don't accept any other method."

His eyes back on the pouch, he shuffled down the bed past her, sliding off and making to grab his knives – which, thankfully – appeared untouched. It also appeared that his pouch hadn't been disturbed either; he guessed that he didn't need to worry too much about her having taken any of his money whilst he was asleep – after all, it didn't look like there was anywhere in her dress she could have kept it.

"Where are you going?" She asked, as he walked away from the bed, strapping his knives on their hilt to his belt, where he tied his pouch as well. Her footsteps pursued him quickly, and he soon found her clinging to his arm, and making that sickly-sweet tone with her voice again. "Please stay! The Lord Chancellor told me you're very tired from your journey..."

"Cut it out... I know he paid you, but I've a job to do." He felt a little ungrateful, putting that into perspective. He glanced over his shoulder out of the glass doors, estimating at where the sun might have been. "What time is it?"

Snubbed, the woman released his arm. "Four hours past midday."

That was five, perhaps six hours since he and Heracles had parted outside of the marketplace. "And the Lord Chancellor hasn't come back at all, yet?" For all he knew, Heracles could've stayed downstairs in the lobby, or gone elsewhere.

"Not to my knowledge." She started looking at her nails, appearing uninterested.

Heading towards his luggage and opening one of the packs. His sword was atop the pile of clothing inside, a thin, slightly curved blade of steel, its sheath embossed, its silver hilt swollen and rounded at the top. It was one of a few he owned; the most practical for a trip to a temple that hopefully wasn't housing any pirates, where only words were intended to be exchanged and nothing more. Still, he couldn't go unprepared... This sword sat atop his overcoat, folded up neatly – this robe, which he pulled on after fixing his sword into place on the belt with the knives, was of a faded green colour, embroidered with intricate swirls in gold; it was sleeveless and open at the front, and did not fall much further than the backs of his knees when worn.

"I'd better go." He turned towards the woman, pausing as he took in her expression. She had her arms folded and was looking away from him; he supposed he could understand why, but... "...Why the sullen face? It's not like you weren't paid."

She shot him a glower, sticking her bottom lip out. "I was told by the Lord Chancellor you were a kind man. I feel lied to."

What else had Heracles said to her, he wondered with contempt. Still, it _did_ seem like a waste of the money, however much she had cost to 'hire'. "Will you wait for me, downstairs?"

"I suppose." It didn't seem to do much to lift her mood, but he was quite relieved she'd agreed to it regardless.

He passed her by again, to pick the key up from the bedside table. "Here." He muttered, digging into his pouch and taking out a silver coin, at the value of 20 Arcaris. "Buy yourself a drink in the meantime, yeah?"

As soon as he presented the coin to her, she plucked it from the palm of his hand, clenching a tight fist around it with a vaguely amused smile on her face. "Very generous of you. I hope you'll be able explain yourself to the Lord Chancellor, though."

He rolled his eyes ever so slightly at that comment. "Don't worry about that. I'm sure by this time, he'll be glad to see me."

* * *

The temple of Arkoudi was near to the port, overlooking the shoreline and the shining expanse of blue water that stretched to the horizon beyond. It was a plain white, rectangular building, built wider than it was tall in the typical bright marble and limestone of the area, with scroll-topped pillars around its perimeter. Though its appearance made it look like there was nowhere for any pirates to hide on its exterior, many cloisters and passages lay below ground. It was also the safest accessible building from the port, which would have made it the prime suspect of being their hideout, even if the evidence wasn't there at all.

Marko had left the woman Heracles had sent him in the lobby of the inn. The key was in his pocket, the door locked behind the two of them, so there was no way she could sneak back upstairs and rummage through his belongings. Even if she wanted to, however, there was no point; the packs contained nothing but food for the journeys there and back, clean clothing, maps of the route and spare riding gear, in case his saddle, reins or stirrups were broken, somehow. Heracles's load had contained similar items, but he had also been in possession of gifts for both the temple and the town's administrative leader, to be given upon their departure the next day (the former assuming the temple were not found guilty, of course). Finding his way through the market, with little fuss from the locals, he'd managed to get to the temple just as the large, stone sundial (which was placed directly in front of the temple's steps in a wide opening in the lane, where it could get the most light) was casting a shadow at four hours passed midday – just as the woman had told him.

As he made to head up the steps, he noticed that (strangely enough, for temples to the Gods were almost always open, day and night) the doors were shut. This was of concern to him, but he wondered if they'd done it because Heracles was visiting? A middle-aged couple were heading back down the steps, just as he was approaching.

"It's no use going up." The man of the couple told him briefly; he sounded rather miffed. "The doors are completely locked."

Marko stopped with one foot on a step higher than the other, to turn and look at the man, who didn't seem to want to stop and chat, nor did his wife. "Why?"

"Who knows?" The man said abruptly, continuing to head down.

He said nothing more to them and let them go on their way, but looked around from that point on the steps. There were no Pawns in sight, much less on guard; it didn't seem like there was anyone he could ask. Continuing up the steps regardless of what the man had said, he wondered maybe if the door had just been too stiff for them to budge. Asides from being a Knight, Marko liked to consider himself somewhat tougher than the average man anyway; if years of military service couldn't shift the doors, then his raw strength alone would – surely.

The doors were iron, engraved with the symbol of Arkoudi – a central, circular shape with spokes protruding from it, resembling the town's layout – and thick, standing from the bottom of the temple floor to the very top of the ceiling – it wasn't the tallest of entrances, but it was still three times as tall as Marko was.

He pushed on one half of the doors with a relatively normal force. It didn't budge. He frowned; it must have really been lodged hard... He put more strength into it; more again, when it still wouldn't move, and more, and more... Until he was shoving on it with his entire weight and all the power he could muster, his shoulder against the cold iron and the balls of his feet rooted firmly on the flooring.

It really was locked – and tightly, at that.

Once he'd straightened up, displeased at this, he decided to slam his fist against the door instead, in hopes that a priest inside might hear and hurry over to let him in. He figured the couple from before might have attempted that, too, but it was worth a try all the same. Perhaps two minutes passed of him knocking – briskly at first, then as hard as he possibly could – but still, no one answered.

"_Dammit_..." He hissed beneath his breath, not really caring that he was currently stood at the doors of a holy place. The longer he spent stood out there, the more he feared the worst... Heracles was fine, surely; he'd know if something had happened... Wouldn't he? Out of intuition, or otherwise? He bit on the inside of his lip, glancing about the temple and wondering what to do now... He was hoping he wouldn't have to fear the worst at all... But, even if it was just for his own reassurance, he really needed to get inside.

He felt along the wall, which was thick and could not be penetrated by human hands, walking quickly but carefully and following it around to the very back of the temple, where it overlooked the sea. There was a smaller doorway this side of the building, as well; it was also locked when he tried it, and of the same iron as its larger counterpart – he had no hope of shifting it by using his strength alone, either. It had been worth a try, but there was still another reason for him to stay at this side; above the door, close to the where the roof gables hovered overhead before they met the pillars, were two wide windows that served as the only source of sunlight (or moonlight, depending on the hour in which it was visited) for the temple. They were open, without glass in their panes, therefore completely exposed to the elements... And anyone that was crazy enough to clamber up there and get inside.

Luckily enough, Marko really was that crazy... That, or he didn't have much of a choice. He figured it was partially both.

Launching into a quick but short run, he jumped and grabbed at the nearest pillar to one of the windows – not something he'd attempted without any climbing gear before. It was a struggle, bare-handed, without any support whatsoever, to scale the pillar, his foot almost slipping off no more than two steps upwards. He grunted, gritting his teeth and pressing onwards and upwards. _'One foot after another... C'mon, you used to do this all the time...' _

His body was heavy, his legs and arms continuing to threaten to slide off at any point and send him plunging to his... Well, he doubted death from this far up; glancing down from a height like that, when he'd managed to battle his way to the top, wasn't pleasant, but unless he landed on his head, it wouldn't kill him... It would maybe break a bone or two, though. Either way, he couldn't afford to do that.

The only problem now he'd gotten to the top of the pillar was the space between there and the window... If he failed the jump, those broken bones were definitely going to be a reality, and it wasn't going to be a simple one, by any means. He drew in a deep breath... Surely, if the Gods were watching him essentially break into one of their holy dwellings (with good reason, of course), then they wouldn't let him miss the jump and get hurt, would they?

He didn't release the breath before he threw caution to the wind and launched himself off the pillar, his right hand outstretched towards the window. He clenched his eyes shut no more than a moment later, but no feeling of falling, nor any pain followed. He'd caught the ledge, albeit in the tips of his fingers... Exhaling, at last, he opened his eyes and made to climb up and over.

That cloaked woman he'd met in the lobby that morning returned to mind just then, as did her last words to him: 'May the Gods smile upon you'. He made a mental note to thank her for that, if he were indeed to encounter her once again.

It seemed, however, that the Gods had – ironically – not smiled on the temple at all... When Marko had gotten inside, after having hitched his leg over the window pane and grabbed a nearby curtain, sliding down the wall using that for aid, he found the place completely deserted. Usually, there were at least one or two priests in that room – the main hall – at least; this was where the people came to pray, after all. Small ivory statues of envisions of the Gods were set around the room within coves carved out of the wall. The lowest point of these coves came to eye level, and the people would place offerings around the base of the statues inside. Then, they would pray to the God they had offered to – whichever one they required for blessings in their lives. Marko might have sought out the God of Luck at this point in time, were alarm bells not already ringing in his head. Asides from the fact the place was deserted, a couple of the tall, thin lamps on the opposite side of the room had been knocked over, their fires extinguished. To him, this signalled that a brawl of some kind had taken place... His stomach sank at the thought... Where was Heracles?

Stone steps leading down into the lower areas of the temple sat in the very centre of the room, bordered by decorated railings. But the room was dark, even with the lamps alight and the sun shining outside, and it was only going to be darker downstairs. He pondered what to do for a moment, before deciding the lamps were his only chance at a guiding light at all. Lifting the nearest to him off the floor, he tilted it downwards until he could pull the candle-holder off its stem. With this between the fingers and thumb of his left hand, he made a dash for the steps.

Below ground, his footsteps echoed off the walls. Everything else about the temple was silent – no voices could be heard, no other movement before or after him. Checking the doors of the cloisters within this level, on either side of the passageway that lead onwards when the steps had ended, he found naught but rooms full of cases of scrolls and spare lamps, cleaning equipment and the like... This was just storage, but still, there was no sign of life – the priests living quarters were on the level below that one, if he remembered correctly.

With his pace gradually getting quicker and more frantic, the further in he went, the less caution he took. So when he stood on something that certainly wasn't the ground, and made a groaning noise in reaction, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

He drew back, listening as the frail moan came again; he shone the candlelight towards the ground, seeing that the source lay in a pool of blood, and a familiar woolen-cloaked uniform. His eyes widened, his heart sinking into his stomach and making him feel rather ill – not necessarily due of the sight of a bloodied, beaten man, but because of the weight it carried in this situation... He was a Pawn, likely one of the escorts that had brought Heracles there.

"What happened? Can you talk?" Marko knelt down, lifting the man's head with his free hand, holding the light close to him.

The Pawn made a pained noise, his lips parted and his eyes searching Marko's face, perhaps struggling with only the mere flicker of the candle to see him with. "Th-They... Came..." He coughed. "So... M-Many..."

He waited, expectantly, for the man to continue.

"D-Do not... Go..." He croaked.

Marko paused for a little longer, then asked quietly, "Don't go...? Don't go where?" Did the Pawn mean, don't leave? Or don't go further into the depths of the temple? Either way, the latter was all he could do... There was certainly no going back now.

No answer came. The Pawn's eyes glossed over; he stared upright, no longer directly at him, his jaw still slightly lax. Marko's blood ran cold, and he set his head back down... There was no use in checking for a pulse – there was no way he could even try to save him, not here and now... He was gone.

He cursed this situation. The Gods may have saved his life with that jump, but what had they been doing when it had come to the attack that had caused this? He rose back up, clenching his teeth together and hoping that they had at least protected Heracles's life... Would he still be down here? As he pressed onward, Marko passed the bodies of other Pawns from the escort group; one was turned on his stomach, a large slash wound through the back of his cloak, the others cast aside in a mangled, bloody pile upon the next set of steps like abandoned dolls stacked atop one another... It was gruesome, but... What had happened... And _why_? Had this been anything to do with the pirates? Marko feared it was so...

He was more careful, now, though he still couldn't dawdle. The longer he waited, the shorter the chance of any survivors... _'Please, Hera, please be alive... I'm coming to get you, just... Please...'_ He shook that thought out of his mind once again, quickly.

The quarters belonging to the priests on the level below were also empty, each door leading to an unoccupied room. He checked them vigorously, but to no avail – there was no sign of the priests, nor the attackers, nor of Heracles...

...At least, not until he arrived at the very end of the passage, there wasn't.

There were no further steps downwards in sight, and if there were any at all, no doubt they were a part of the room straight ahead of him. The door, when Marko attempted to push on it, was locked; it was, however, just wood, as opposed to the colossal iron doors above the ground, and so he had a good chance of breaking it... And he knew that was what he'd have to do, because when he put his ear to the door, he found that he could hear voices inside... Hoping he could catch a glimpse of what exactly was going on in there, he crouched by the keyhole and peered through it. He couldn't make out anything clear; there were no human figures, no objects, just a faint flicker of light off the walls beyond (probably from another candlelit lamp) and the dull murmuring voices, the speech of which he couldn't fathom. But irrespective of the lack of information he could gather just at the door; whatever was going on here – whoever or whatever had killed the Pawns – he was about to find out.

His right hand pulled his sword free of its sheath. His left still tightly holding the lamp, he lifted his leg quickly, kicking on the middle edge of the door as hard as he possibly could. It wouldn't budge. He tried once again, gritting his teeth this time...

Perhaps, just perhaps, he'd been a little too focused on breaking down the door, because mere moments later and quick, yet brief, footsteps filled his ears. Before he could register it, there was a sharp crack; a horrible pain throbbed at the back of his head, and with his foot still raised with the intention of kicking the door, he lost his balance, tumbling backwards and keeling over with a startled cry.

The sword slipped from his fingers, as did the lamp, both hitting the floor with loud clunks the moment before he did so himself. He couldn't think straight, his head aching so terribly... He knew he was being attacked, but he couldn't find the strength to reach his sword, his vision blurring and his body falling out of consciousness... The last thing he heard, before he blacked out completely, was a shuffling noise, and several, more laboured, footsteps...


End file.
